The Dark Room
by Naterson
Summary: I wanted to further explore the relationship between Jefferson and Nathan off screen, trying to keep to canon as much as possible but it may veer off occasionally. I love Nathan and Jefferson's dynamic that is established through quips here and there in conversation and just wish it had been canonically explored further.


A line, a shot, a shot, a pill, a shot, a shot, a shot, a line, a shot, a shot, a pint, a shot, a shot, a shot, a shot, ashot, ashot,ashot,ashotashotashotashot. Nathan brought his hand up to his head in an attempt to rub away the shooting pain behind his eyes as he slumped further into the ground. The ground has yet to swallow him up through the night after all his attempts but he still tried. It's one thing you've got to hand to Nathan Prescott; he perseveres.  
The junkyard was pitch black and cold, a perfect place to attempt to sleep off whatever alcohol and drug induced hangover he knew he was going to wake up with. The dark stopped him being tempted to take a look at his reflection, dry skin and purple eyes, and the cold stopped his body pooling in sweat as though he had been swimming in his sleep. There wasn't the time for another laundry trip this week. For all the sweat, blood and vomit that his sheets had experienced Nathan was sympathetic tonight and in his haze decided he wanted to give them a break.

Nathan shivers, pulls his jacket closer and his knees up to his chest. On his side in the dirt he can see the west side of the yard. Cars and trash for what seems like forever. Right in front of his face was an upturned bottle, neck first in the dirt. A marker. A headstone. The thought of leaving Rachel unmarked and unknown seemed cruel.

It was an accident.

 _The heating was off but headlamps on, pointing towards the empty plot in a sea of tin and steel. Nathan was sat in the passenger seat, eyes puffy and nose bloody. This wasn't supposed to happen. He watches as her skin is covered in dirt and imagines maggots crawling through her eyes, worms burying themselves under her skin, a stray dog in a month, two months' time digging up a leg and burying it somewhere miles away for later, the maggots turn into flies and dig their way out of the grave spreading their wings to come home and lay again, worms multiplying and leaving her to nothing, her skin is worn, dry. It was an accident.  
The slamming of the door pulls him out of his trance as he looks over at the driver's seat. Jefferson's glasses are askew, his brow furrowed, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up over his elbows. The mound of dirt neatly flattened and patted down like nothing ever happened. The car rolled backwards in silence, Jefferson neither looking at Nathan nor saying anything.  
He doesn't know what's worse; Rachel being dead or Mark being disappointed. _

Nathan stumbles to his feet and to his car releasing streams of profanities as he goes along. He kicks bottles and car tires as hard as he can and picks up rocks to launch them into the sky. Nobody can see him here which means nobody can say anything, he can scream so loud he swears God could hear him and tell Kate Marsh to 'watch out for the Prescott fucker he's losing it!' and nobody could say a thing. His car mumbles to a start and he pulls out of the junkyard and further into the woods. He shouldn't be driving like this, barely being able to see how straight the lines separating the lanes in the road are but nobody is about and if they were they would just have to pay attention and keep out of the way; he wasn't about spending any more attention than he had to right now which meant the middle of the road was where he was staying.  
It wasn't the hangover. Nathan had had plenty of those and plenty a lot worse. There was too much and he couldn't cope. Nathan drove to the one place where he felt right now he could be out of the way and out of the cold.

He leaves the car abandoned outside the gates of the barn, shutting the door but not bothering to lock it, nobody is out here and if they are they can have the stupid car his father would just buy him a new one and tell him to go away, he punches in the numbers to the keypad on the door and the lights flicker on as he slams his hand against the switch. Nathan walks two steps into the dark room and falls to his knees facing the wall. He bites his lip, holding back a scream and head butts the wall as hard as he can. Again. Again. Again. He can feel a bruise. Again. Nathan, for the second time that night, curls up into a ball and sobs.

 _Jefferson pulled up outside his house. This isn't the first time Nathan has been here and yet he still feels like a first time visitor. He is a child against the very particular furniture arrangements, the paintings and photographs, even the sleek white of the coffee table. Nathan knew his father had more money than Mark, yet this interior would scream otherwise._

 _"Take off your clothes."_

 _Nathan doesn't have it in him to question anything and crosses his arms to pull off his jumper and dumps it on the floor. He pulls off his tshirt and unbuckles his jeans, slips off his shoes and continues the pile of dirty clothes._

 _"All of them."_

 _Jefferson's stare never lets off any emotion, in fact Nathan could swear the stony expression has yet to change since what happened. It was an accident. His eyes swallowed up Nathan's whole body, his stark white stomach compared to the reds and purples of his chopped up, bruised thighs. Jefferson raises an eyebrow, noting a new addition but says nothing to Nathan's relief.  
The pile is finished with Nathan's underwear as Jefferson leans down to scoop it all up. _

_"You know where the shower is, I'll leave you some clothes on the bed."_

 _Nathan's clothes were evidence. Of course he couldn't have them back._

 _"Wash your face"_

 _Jefferson walks out of the hallway and towards the door to the basement, possibly to hide the clothes down there, burn them, cut them into tiny pieces, who knows. Nathan, naked and cold walks up to the shower, turns it as high as it will go, steps in and watches dirt and blood pool around his feet. The blood was his own, he would have never have dreamed hurting her in that way. It was an accident. When her eyes glossed over he couldn't cope, screamed for Jefferson to help, to save her and then hit his face off the wall. Nathan never was one to be able to cope well in stress. Not stress like this. Not Rachel._

 _Considering morning was breaking when he got out, Nathan assumed he was in the shower for at least an hour if not more. Sitting in the corner and letting the water wash away the sins he had committed, the dirt from his scalp and the blood from his face. He dressed in a shirt far too big and pyjama bottoms with a drawstring not big enough and walked downstairs to meet Mark sat leaning on the arm of the sofa reading._

 _"You didn't know what you were doing, don't blame yourself"_

 _Nathan sat down next to Jefferson at his words and looked down into his own lap noting Mark never looked up from his book. He bit his lip, stop talking about it I don't want to think about it._

 _"Yeah,"_

 _When an arm reached around his waist and pulled him closer Nathan knew the man understood the conversation was over and leaned into his chest. The clothes swamping him made the world feel so much bigger than it already was. The sun was crashing and the world spinning far too quickly for Nathan to cope which led to tears spilling down his face. There was no point in stifling. Sobbing into Jefferson's chest is something of a normality for Nathan these days, not something he is proud of but something he has become used to. A formality of their meetings.  
Formality causes Mark to slip a hand around Nathan's front and into his bottoms, kneading what he finds with a smug grin. Nathan never sees his face, only the shirt pressed over his chest and the marks where his tears have left it wet. _

_There are few things which interest and excite Mark Jefferson anymore. One of these is seeing a usually crude and confident Nathan being brought down a peg or two. A sobbing mess clutching onto his shirt begging for the world to be pushed away._

 _"Nathan…" Jefferson leans down to Nathans face and practically whispers "Nate… Are you going to be good?"_

 _Disappointing Mark twice in one night was not an option, it was not going to be okay. All Nathan wanted was for him to be proud, impressed, enamoured with his abilities, his confidence but no. Mark Jefferson was left with a body and a mess to clean and cover up._

 _"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry"_

 _Jefferson stands and pushes Nathan down onto the sofa, towering over him, one knee to the side of his leg and the other rested in between; one hand supporting his weight next to Nathan's head and another around his throat, squeezing. His lips pressed against Nathan's and beard scratching his chin. He pulls away, keeping his fingers pressed into Nathan's neck, annoyance and tiredness showing in his voice._

 _"Daddy knows you're sorry, I know you didn't mean it and its fixed. Now… Are you going to be good Nathan?"_


End file.
